


So This Is How It Ends. Where Is Our Beginning?

by Pennytextrix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Porn With Plot, Post-Season/Series 04 AU, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 21:05:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pennytextrix/pseuds/Pennytextrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cavil catches up to the fleet, it is the end of them all. Or is it? Bill and Laura wake up on Caprica in a version of reality that both is and is not their own. But how do they know what is real and what isn’t? And after all they have been through, do they even care? Vague spoilers up to Daybreak part 1. Diverges from there. Guess this has become my alternative ending piece.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The End

_So this is how it ends._

After everything they had been through, after all they had survived she had begun to think of Galactica as unbreakable, unmovable and unaffected by the bombardment of time that rained tragedy after massacre after tragedy down upon her. Yes she was broken, damaged, like all of them, beyond what should have been repairable. And like all of them she kept going. But now  it seemed that  even Galactica had her limits. 

Laura had long ago come to terms with her own death. She had imagined it often. She used to think she would die cold and alone in the bleak isolation of life station. It used to frighten her that the fleet would mourn the passing of it’s president, but that no one would remember Laura. Now that fear was past, and while she didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want him to ever feel the pain of loss again, she took comfort in the fact that he would remember. She took comfort in the knowledge that one day, on a beautiful planet she would never see, Bill would sit in a wood cabin, surrounded by Lee, and his grandchildren and one of them, a beautiful boy with brown hair and startling blue eyes, would point to her picture and ask. “Who’s that?”  and Bill would reply “Her name was Laura, and I loved her very much.” And he would remember, and he would tell stories about her. Not about the former president, but about Laura. He would remember that she got the giggles when she was nervous, that she liked to break pencils, that she loved books and the stars that guided them to their new home. He would remember that she hated noodles, and secretly loved algae rice cakes, although she would admit it to no-one. Yes, he would remember everything about her. 

 In these moments, she wishes he had known her before all of this. Before, on Caprica, when there had been more of her to remember than her likes and dislikes and the way she looked with each emotion. She wishes that he could have the memories of her surrounded by more than the grey of a bulkhead, or a desolate wasteland, scratchy sandbags or a warm blue pillow. She wishes that, in not so many of his memories, she would be bald. She wishes she had hair again, the hair she knew he so loved, and did not dare mention. She wishes he had seen her house on Caprica. She thinks he would have liked the garden. She thinks it would have been nice to have someone to enjoy it with.

She had imagined these things so often that the thoughts had turned to memories. She was sure that, somewhere in the universe it had already happened, was happening, would happen soon. It seemed absurd then, that they should both die like this, destroyed on the whim of a megalomaniacal machine and forgotten in the dark cold of space.

She remembers their promise to each other. Spoken not so long ago:

_We’ve earned the right to live a little before we die._

This was not it. This was not how it was supposed to happen. Where was their new beginning? Where was their happy ending?

In the dim half light of CIC she grabbed for his hand as she felt the ship buckle underneath her feet and groan and wail her death song over their heads. They had already lost the starboard wing, six decks destroyed. The next hit would finish them. They were dead in space. Dradis was down. They could not return fire. They could not run. She knew it. Bill knew it. Everyone knew it. Seconds passed. Feeling like years as they waited for the end. She started to wonder if she had been wrong. Perhaps it wasn’t coming after all. Perhaps they would be ok.

She felt strong arms grabbing hold of her waist and pulling her back as she caught the glimpse of a steel girder falling to the floor, sparks and people flying as it crushed the nav console just behind her. It was a ridiculous act. Saving a dying woman who’d be dead in a matter of seconds anyway. She turned in her impotent saviour’s arms and it to see it was Bill who had pulled her back and the whole thing didn’t seem so strange after all.

She leaned into his chest. Unable to support her own weight in the face of their destruction. Gentle hands raised her chin, tears of despair ran unhindered down her face. Bill’s mouth on hers a forceful crushing of her lips that she eagerly returned. Only the violent impact of  a missile, and the dim tearing and shredding of metal broke them apart.  She saw the tears streaming down his own face, and as absurd as it was, that made her smile. He smiled back. “I’ll see you soon.” 

It was getting hot. Unbearably hot, a rolling blistering heat, that bubbled her skin. She buried her face in Bill’s neck, letting out a scream that had  no sound. She was there and she was not. Already floating away from her body, disconnecting, in a desperate attempt to make it stop.  In those last moments of painful consciousness she hoped he was right, but it had been an odd thing to say for a man that didn’t believe.


	2. How It Feels to Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after...

_Remember..._

Laura stirred to wakefulness. The word a sweet breath in her ear. She did not know the voice, it was almost familiar, but she could not place it. _Doesn’t matter. Just the tail end of a dream, not important._ She told herself. She snuggled down into cool white pillows that smelt of sunny days and sweet fresh air, the scent of evening flowers opening and carried on the breeze until morning. It was impossibly perfect.

She stretched languidly, her back coming up against someone’s body.  A man stirring against her. His morning erection pressing against the top of her naked thigh. She had no idea where she was. Or with who. She tensed up, prepared to fight her way out of this situation if necessary. 

His arm curled around her waist. Brought her closer to him. His chin rested in the crook of her shoulder. He groaned in contentment, shifting unconsciously against her and placed a kiss on her shoulder. 

“Morning.”

_Bill. Thank the Gods for that._

The feeling of elation hit her next. The feeling of, by some miracle, still being alive. And with Bill. She turned pushing him down on the bed, straddling his waist and kissing him hard. He went with it, but when she didn’t let up after what must of been over a minute he pulled back and  took her arms to push her away. Confusion was written on her face.  He smiled, stroking the hair away from her face. Her hair. 

_I have hair! Long red hair, and Bills hands are tangled in it just like they should be._

“Not that I’m not enjoying this. But you’re gonna be late.” 

“Late? Late for what?  I have nowhere I have to be.” 

 He thought it was a wish wrapped in a joke and playfully slapped her bottom. 

“ Oh how I wish that were true. You usually go nuts if you even think you might be late for school, the gods forbid if one of your students makes it there before you do. 

_For school?_

Laura was about to protest, but Bill was already shifting her off him so he could stand and reaching for a pair of boxers from the floor where they had been thrown carelessly in the processes of lust last night. He turned back to her, letting her get a good look as he stepped into his underwear. Returning the smile of contentment he saw plastered over her face.

“Come on,  go get a shower and get dressed. I’ll make some coffee.” 

A memory. Her and Bill on the bed. She already naked, her hands trailing across him, down to the waistband of his boxers. Her mouth following, all kisses and playful nips of teeth. Her hands dragging across him, taking her boxers with her, as she kissed and caressed the length of his body before sitting triumphant at his ankles, a glint of what she hoped looked like mischief in her eyes as she held the offending underwear in her hands before pinging them by their elastic across their bedroom.  

_But that never happened. I’m not a teacher. This isn’t our bedroom, That wasn’t me. Then why do I remember it so clearly?_

Wait a minute. This was her bedroom. Had been her bedroom. Before it had been irradiated along with the rest of the twelve colonies. And she had been a teacher, as Secretary of Education she had missed it terribly, had wanted to go back to it, had been half glad that she was about to get fired when she stepped onto Galactica. And then, since teaching again on New Caprica, she had secretly wished that she did not have to take to the Presidency again. _To teach._ It had been all she’d ever wanted to do really.

“I am a teacher. This is my bedroom. This is my house. In Delphi. On Caprica.” 

The tone of barely concealed incredulity in her tone. She scrambled off the bed, not believing its existence. _This isn’t right._ She needed a robe. She wasn’t going to walk around some weird house that didn’t belong to her butt naked. Cautiously she went over to her wardrobe. Her hands shook as she opened the door. There it was on the inside hook. Just where she had left it, almost four years ago. It was her favourite. She touched the silky midnight blue material. She had mourned the loss of it. If she had known the world was going to end and she’d been given the choice of things to take with her, this would have been high on the list. She touched it again. Surprised it was real. She slipped it on. Did up the belt, the firm tug she gave it, a small release to her frustration.  

She moved to the bathroom, turned on the shower, adjusted the temperature. She caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked good. She looked well. She couldn’t believe the hair. Had not realised how much she missed playing with it. She took the brush from the bathroom cabinet, and ran it through her hair in long strokes. It felt glorious. In the mirror, she saw Bill approaching her, coffee in hand. Without even thinking about it she took the mug from him and breathed the aroma of it before taking a sip. “mmm..” Bill laughed. Kissing the back of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair. She caught their reflection in the mirror. They looked happy. And this felt strangely familiar. It was so right. Like routine. Like she started her mornings like this everyday. Like Bill always brought her coffee. Like she always slept in that bed with him.  Like she always left her robe there. Which after all, she always had. 

 And it was so wrong. Bill did not breath in the scent of her hair when he kissed her head. He kissed her bald head, and lied that he loved the smoothness, and perfect shape of it. Bill did not bring her coffee. One of the galley staff did. And it did not taste like this. This was perfect. This was coffee, with real cream. Strong and hot and fresh. Not stale and mixed with algae substitute and so revolting that she let it go cold half the time. They had lived together but never in a space that felt so entirely theirs. And they had never had sex in her beautiful, carved wood framed bed. They had sex in a hard rack. On more adventurous evenings they had had sex on his leather sofa, once on the table and once against the bulkhead, but never in her bed. A bed that should not exist. And this was no memory from her past. She had not known him here.

Her thoughts were broken by his second kiss to her head. And the briefest of hugs as he draped his arms over her shoulders, and folded them around her. He whispered in her ear:

“Stop worrying. You look beautiful. And it’s going to be fine.”  She wanted to ask him what was going to be fine but something stopped her. His whisper in her ear reminded her of the voice she had woken to that morning: _Remember..._

_He doesn’t remember anything_. 

This morning she had been the President of twelve annihilated colonies. This morning she had been dying. This morning he had been an Admiral of a rag tag fleet of survivors and newly discovered cylons, and  then they had been blown to a million tiny little pieces, and he didn’t remember. Maybe it had never happened at all. Maybe she was crazy, and maybe she wasn’t and this was the Elysian Fields. Maybe she wasn’t dead at all and this was  some new, awful cylon  head frak. She couldn't decide what this was because she did remember. She was beginning to remember it all. Both versions of her life, and she couldn’t think about it now, because she had to get to school. It was an important day. She looked at Bill in the mirror and smiled sadly, kissing his hand.

“Bill, tell me this is real. Tell me this is our house, and that’s our bed and this is our bathroom, and this is really our life.” 

 His arms tightened around her. He didn’t understand what she was asking. To him, the questions only related to the fact of how disgustingly happy they had found themselves, so late in life.

“Yeah...It’s all real. Now get in the shower.”


	3. Learning to Play Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pretending is not the same as forgetting.

In the shower she washes her hair, absorbs its texture, indulges in the heavy wet feel of it tugging at her scalp. She sighs, wishing she had more time to indulge in it this morning. She puts her head under the water enjoying the final rinse. The diluted lather of the shampoo runs down her body, over her breasts and down her legs to the tray below. _My Breasts_. It was one of the things she had first thought about, after realising that she was alive and well. After realising she had hair. She had been too afraid to look. Didn’t want to look now. Somehow sure that it would break this, too fragile reality and  make of it  nothing more than a dream.              

 She was very still as she contemplated the act of examining them. Knew what she was looking for. Knew exactly where it would be. Tears threatened to spill over as she felt for it. It was not there. She pressed harder into the flesh, convinced it had only grown smaller, she had the ridiculous thought that it must be in hiding. That it had to be in there somewhere. She looked down at herself, hoping to see what she could not feel. It was gone. Still, she continued to search for it, starting with the rest of her left breast, before examining the right. It was gone. It was really gone. Her silent tears became great heaving sobs, she was consumed with an odd combination of relief and loss as her legs went from under her, and she found herself rocking back and forth on the tiled floor of the shower, her hands clasped to her breasts.

She didn’t know what to feel. Didn’t know how. Could barely remember how to live without a disease. An illness that had become so much a part of her. So much part of her identity. She was the dying leader, fated to lead them all to a new home. However false that had been, it was still a part of her now. And who was she without it? A President no longer. Just a person, who need be concerned only for herself.  A person who had to live. She had tried that before. It hadn’t worked well for her. The first time, Well, she had hated Baltar for many, well founded reasons. But the most powerful reason of all, the one that had secretly tormented her, was irrational: He had not let her die, like she was supposed to. Worse still, he had made her healthy and whole. And she didn’t know what to do with that then. Just like on New Caprica, she had felt uncomfortable in her own skin. It was like the realisation that the new shirt you bought, that seemed like such a good idea in the shop, was a horrible mistake. When you got it home and tried it on, it was itchy and ill fitting, too long in the body and too tight around the chest. It was all wrong. Only in this case, she could not take it back. Deep inside herself she knew she shouldn’t want to. And the guilt of that realisation only made her cry harder.

Bill chose that moment to waltz back into the bathroom. She heard his voice, distorted, as if from a distance, before she forced herself to look up at him. 

“Laura, I need to...are you all right? What happened?”

He reached for her and she flinched away. He tried to help her up once more, and she wrenched herself out of his grasp, almost falling to the floor again. He held out a towel for her, coaxing her to stand. 

“Laura, you need to tell me what’s wrong.” He sighed. It was a sigh of recognition, the sigh that signified the acknowledgement and despair of a now resurfacing, long held fear. “We’ve been through this before, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.” 

“Its..gone. The cancer....its really gone.” 

“Its been gone for a long time now, Laura, don’t you remember?”

His voice was different. Cold and hard. She felt like she was being scolded. When she looked in his eyes, they were not his. Not the deep forever blue, she so loved. Just deep pools of menacing black. Those eyes. She knew those eyes. They were not Bill’s but she had seen them before. And she was afraid.

“No..yes” 

Her voice came out weak and pleading. She needed to understand and could not bare the fact that she did not. _Two years ago, so early in their relationship she had feared he would leave her._ _She had noticed it early, the tiniest lump at the side of her breast. It had been removed easily. A single successful course of Diloxin treatment later and she had been fine. She remembered him reading to her, his voice comforting her. Pushing back the nausea to a bearable level. It had never come back. She had been so lucky. And Bill had been there, always. Never leaving her side._

But that was only a dream. She also remembered the reality of it. She remembered knowing, and being unable to bear the thought of dying like her mother, she had buried it. Ignoring it for too long, and surviving a holocaust only to find herself still dying slowly, eaten away from the inside out. And she remembered Bill only being there when she had eventually found the courage to let him in.

He grabbed for her. She fought him. Screamed at him. “Get away from me!! You’re not him. You’re not Bill.” She kicked and lashed out at him in blind panic. She didn’t know what else to do. Or how she could possibly escape. He was calm. He did not attempt to block her, nor did he back away. There was only his slow careful advance toward her. The tug of her body into his arms and the feeling of soft terrycloth as he wrapped the towel around her.  He pulled her more tightly into his arms, held her there until she stopped fighting against his chest.

She felt so comforted. So protected in his arms that everything seemed to drift away. None of it seemed to matter anymore. But it did matter, she knew. This was not right. The twisting of her stomach  told her that there were so many things wrong with this situation, and still she could not bring herself to care. She knew that moments ago she had been crying, Knew she had tried to run from him, but the reasons for her outburst were already so distant, already half forgotten. Desperately she grasped for it. Knowing it was important, but she was blind to it now, and in the dark comfort of his arms, she had no hope of recovering it. She felt dizzy. Exhausted. Desperate to sleep. Time fell away from her, folded in on her. It was a little like being drunk, like knowing you’re stumbling and slurring your words and not being able to do a thing about it. So she rolled with it, knowing that eventually she must come out the other side. 

Slowly she came back to herself. His voice in the next room, coming ever closer.

“Laura...I need... What are you doing?” No trace of annoyance in his voice. Only amusement. She did not know what she was doing, she was on her knees wrapped in a towel on the bathroom floor. She had been searching for something. Something lost. She was getting the strangest sense of déjà vu. She became fascinated with her hands. Her bracelet was gone. _What bracelet? You don’t have a bracelet. Yes, I do. The silver one._  Her eyes travelled further down her hands before coming to rest on the engagement ring and wedding band that rested there. They were beautiful. She smiled up at him as she held up her left hand to show him.

“It’s ok. I found it. I almost lost my engagement ring down the plughole.” She laughed with relief. She remembered it all so clearly, and still it was distant. Like she was watching the home videos from somebody else’s perfect life. She envied this woman. It would be so easy to just slip into her shoes...into this life. To have peace. Even if it could not last. _Now where did that though come from?_

He took her hand, helped her off the cold floor. Laura was struck by the overpowering urge to kiss him. This was her Bill. The other one, the thing with black eyes that terrified her, simply, did not exist. She went with it, only pulling away from him briefly as he tried to speak.

“mmm...Are you done in here, 'cause I really have to pee.”

“Oh ! yes. I have to get going. Or I really will be late.” She pressed a sharp goodbye kiss to his lips and almost bounced out the room. Bill called her back.

“Laura?! “

“hmm?”

“Your coffee.”

“oh right. Thanks.” She grinned sheepishly. As he handed it to her she was surprised to find that it was still hot.

 

                                                                                            ***

 

As Laura gathered up the pile of marking and lesson plans scattered over her desk and forced them into her bag, she mused that it felt strange not to be wearing a suit. _And when did you last wear a suit?_ She asked herself. Looking down at her neat black slacks and the tight fitting olive green sweater she wore.

_Remember..._

That voice again. 

_No. I wore one yesterday._ She remembered putting it on. Remembered lamenting her lack of wardrobe choice, remembered Bill smiling at her, and saying that he had always loved her in the white wrap shirt. She remembered going to work, yesterday morning. Remembered the weariness. The desire to be anywhere but the CIC. She remembered Galactica.

She gasped as the memory of it hit her full force in the chest before fading so quickly, it was as if it had never been.

She turned and gathered her things.

“Bill! I’m off. See you tonight.”

He appeared in the doorway of her study, leaning casually against the door frame.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Of course..” she leaned in and kissed him. “how could I forget something like that?” She smiled up at him, placing a hand against his chest.

Bill nodded in the direction of her desk. “ I meant your car keys.”

“Oh right.” She turned and started to walk back to her desk. His hand lingered on her shoulder, brushing down her arm before clasping her wrist firmly and pulling her back  to him. Crushing her to him. His head in the crook of her neck. His voice a low but firm whisper.

“Laura. I’m going to tell you something now.  It’s going to sound strange and I don’t want you to be afraid. But it’s vital that you listen to me.” She nodded. She knew what he was going to say. Was relieved that she wasn’t going crazy.” Sometimes I remember things. Things about before. And then it’s like the memories get taken from me, and time seems to rewind, and I don’t remember anymore. There’s something dark here, something menacing. And you have to believe me when I say, you don’t want to find it. For me. You have to promise me that you won’t try. You have to forget. We have to forget. Don’t let them notice that you remember. You don’t want to be here when it all tears apart.”

She didn’t question it. Knew it to be true. She was sure that had been what she had experienced earlier. The Bill with terrifying eyes, the coldness of it. She shuddered at the memory. She didn’t need to remember. She needed to forget.

“Ok.” She brought a hand to his face. “Ok.”

As she picked her car keys off her desk and walked out the door, she realised that she hadn’t driven in nearly fifteen years. She hoped she remembered how.

But then, it had only really been a day. She would be fine.  



	4. How To Live Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short, but necessary for the set up. Enjoy.

“Congratulations, Laura.” A small round woman, with dark skin and ancient eyes said as she poked her head around the classroom door. Laura was slightly shocked as she found herself pulled into a fierce hug. _Anna, her name is Anna._ Laura reminded herself, without knowing how. It had been like that all morning. The car had seemed to drive itself here. She had known where she was going, and yet every turn she made, every landmark she had passed was completely unfamiliar to her until she had pulled into what she knew was her parking space inside the school gates.

_Our Lady of the Sea._

She had known the  school immediately. It had been the last one she had worked at before joining Richard’s campaign team. _Richard. What campaign?_ Who had he been to her? she had only the vague sense of his name now, of someone she had once known, of a job she had once had. But it all meant very little to her. This did. This felt right. And it was an important day. Today saw the culmination of all her hard work as head of the department for literature and languages. It had been her plan. Her targets. And she knew it had worked.

“We did it.” Said Anna “we’re the best school in the whole district. Flagship status!”  Laura smiled almost jumping up and down with excitement.

“Is it here? I want to see the breakdown.”

“Not yet. Post hasn’t come. But  you! I can see it now, a nice new sign on the front gates: _Our Lady of the Sea._ Flagship school for languages and the arts. Head Teacher: Mrs Laura Adama. They have to give you the headship now. After all you’ve done for this school. We won’t accept anyone else” she hugged her again and Laura felt the hard knot of doubt and uneasiness reforming in her stomach. She felt distanced from herself. From her own life once more. It all seemed idyllic, perfect until she started noticing the finer details. They were off. _Mrs Laura Adama?_  She loved Bill more than she could express. But she would never have taken his name. She had worked too hard to make her own. And _Mrs?_ She held a doctorate, she wasn’t about to define herself to the world as only married woman. _Not that there’s anything ‘only’ about it._ She treasured it. Treasured Bill and their life together. But it was private. It was theirs. It was nobody’s business but hers.

And Head Teacher?It was happening to her again. She felt as if she was  being forced into a position of power and authority that she had never sought. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle it. She knew she could. Something in the deep recesses of her memory told her she already had, and on a far greater scale. Although she could not quite grasp the memory of it, nor quite make sense of her reaction to it now. She only knew that she did not want it, would never have sought it. She had only ever wanted to teach. Being a head teacher meant paperwork and politics and very little time in the classroom, it was a thought she could not bear.

The room was spinning. She felt pressure across her lower back, and then a deep wrenching forward  as if someone was trying to pull her insides out through her belly button. Except there was no pain. Just dull force and disorientated confusion. The floor beneath her rent wide, and she was falling into it. Time stretched slowly outward before snapping back on itself.

 

                                                                                                ***

 

_She was standing in front of a large crowd of people. Her right hand raising shakily as if taking an oath. She felt the terrifying fear of it. The glowing expectancy of the crowd. She looked up to see the reassuring smile of a priestess. Elosha. Her name was Elosha, not Anna._

 And then she was falling forwards again. As time righted itself, she tried to drag the memory with her. She felt the woman’s arms around her once again. It was faint, Elosh...elo..Anna, and it was gone.

“We did it.” Said Anna “we’re the best school in the whole district. Flagship status!”  Laura smiled almost jumping up and down with excitement.

“Is it here? I want to see the breakdown.”

“Not yet. Post hasn’t come. But  you! I can see it now, a nice new sign on the front gates: _Our Lady of the Sea._ Flagship school for languages and the arts. Head Teacher: Dr Laura Roslin. They have to give you the headship now. After all you’ve done for this school. We won’t accept anyone else”

“Anna...” She warned “I don’t want it. I am happy just the way things are. I love the job I have. And then there’s Bill..we’re thinking of retiring soon, maybe in a few years, we’re thinking of doing some travelling, sorting out the garden, doing all the things we’ve been putting off, just spending more time together. I’m finally living again and it’s...it’s perfect. Why ruin it? I’m a good teacher. But I’m not cut out for politics. That’s your department. So, maybe you should go for it, if that’s what _you_ want.”

“Well, maybe I will.” She grinned in challenge. Laura felt uneasy, more awkward with each moment that Anna looked at her with those ancient eyes that were always searching for something bigger, something far outside their trivial conversation, trying to find the greater meaning. The mood quickly became sombre.

Anna took hold of her hand, squeezed it tightly, the gesture was so familiar. An old memory. Laura brushed it aside. They had been friends for a long time, there had been countless occasions like this.

“I can’t argue with you. Never could, once you made your mind up. And I’ve never seen you this happy. You don’t ever let him go.”

“I’m not going to.” Laura sat down at her desk, pulled in her chair and started to unpack her bag. Readying herself for the mornings lessons. The door opened and students started to file in. “Now, shoo, I’ve got work to do.”

Elosha continued to smile as she turned and walked away. She was ok. She was more than ok. Laura was so happy. Adjusting well. There had been only the barest flicker of past recognition in her eyes. In time that would pass too. She sighed. She hated that she would have to rip this away from her before that happened. There was only a small window of transition before it became irreversible. She had to make her remember, make him remember. Before they came for all of them. Before it was too late. The people of the fleet needed their President and their Admiral, even in death...


	5. Never Let Me Go Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens...

Bill could never have imagined he would enjoy retirement so much. At the time of Galactica’s decommissioning, the very thought of it had terrorised him. Being here had felt like its own death sentence. He was vaguely aware of the very real truth of that. The first few weeks had passed him in an ambrosia induced daze, a single thought had possessed him: _They turned my girl, my warrior queen, into a frakking museum._ He had felt that that should not have been her fate. She was meant to go down fighting, with him, in one last blaze of glory. Then he had met Laura and that had changed everything.

It was a beautiful summer’s day. As he worked in the garden, Bill thought it seemed a shame that she was at this moment cooped up in a stiflingly hot classroom and not here to enjoy it with him. As he dug his hands into the soft loamy earth beneath him he remembered their first chance meeting, grinned his thanks to the sun, and revelled in the memory as he worked.

 

****

Bill had wandered into his local bookshop that afternoon with the intention of whiling away a few hours looking for a good easy novel that would take him away from his own troubles for a while. It was quiet. Business was slow at this time of day, and Bill took a moment to take in the quiet, peaceful atmosphere. He breathed in deeply, loving the smell; the blending of new and old paper, leather bindings and sandalwood polish, combined with the hint of fresh coffee drifting in from the cafe next door. He watched the dust motes rise and fall in the air, and he noted how they seemed to be dancing in the dim afternoon light that filtered in through the shop window.

The garish red and purple cover of a book over in the new releases section caught his eye and he walked over to it, picked it up and read the blurb on the back cover before turning it over in his hands. _Blood Runs at Midnight._ There was something about it. Something that drew him to this book, even though the title hinted at a read that would be far too melodramatic for his usual tastes.

His musings were interrupted by voices emanating from the top of the stairs.

“Can I help you with that?  Let me find someone to help you take it to your car.”

“No, really its fine. I’ve got it.”

_That voice. So familiar._

Bill turned just in time to see its owner topple down the stairs, a box, overfull with books flying down the stairs after her.

A thick tension crept over the bookshop. Time: a thousand possibilities, stretched out before him. He found comfort in the stillness of it. In the periphery of his vision, the bookseller at the counter seemed stung with the shock of it. She seemed caught between rushing to the aid of the falling woman on the great wooden staircase, and continuing to serve the woman in front of her. A woman whose ancient eyes  bored into her and willed her to stay put. The small dark woman looked at him, before shifting her attention to the stairs, she observed with great interest as she watched gravity and destiny take its course.

“So say we all.”

She muttered under her breath, as time snapped back into place, its course through the aching void decided. Without knowing what moved him Bill found himself on the stairs, offering his hand to the shocked and disarrayed woman at his feet.

“ You ok?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” She smiled up at him gratefully as she took his hand and pulled herself up.

 

****

 

As Bill continued to dig over the earth in their garden, he remembered that it had been her eyes that had first caught and then held his attention. Great deep pools of grey green that swirled with equal measures of thanks and embarrassment, peppered with a familiarity, a recognition, he could not explain. Then as she had attempted to right herself before him. His eyes had wandered to that extraordinary mane of ox-blood hair, roaming down further still to her neck, before coming to rest on the most magnificent cleavage he had ever had the pleasure to ogle. He had known he was staring. But that knowledge hadn’t been enough to make him stop.

 

****

 

Laura had noticed and made to pull the red wrap around smock dress she wore, more tightly around her. She hadn’t been offended, she was rather enjoying the attention of his gaze and returned, an albeit, slightly self conscious smile that said _Yes, I saw you looking._

 

****

 

Back it the garden, Bill was pulled up short by the briefest flash of another memory. He was sitting with Laura on a beach he did not recognise, it was nowhere they had ever visited. His bare feet played in the sand. He had not been able to stop staring at her then either. She had tried to cover herself in the same way. The look in her eyes had said the same thing. She had called him on his enjoyment of the feeling of sand between his toes. No, it had not been sand. It was alluvial deposits.

 Bill laughed, and did not know why, only that this flash of memory, that did not quite belong to him, had been the start of something too. A fantasy perhaps, half remembered from so long ago, similar in so many ways to their first real meeting in the bookshop. It was always disconcerting to suddenly remember not what they were but what they had been. He loved and hated this thing he was gifted with. Was inclined to chase it, to uncover more. But that he knew was dangerous. He pushed it away, hoping that the man who haunted him, hunted him, had not noticed this too brief, sojourn into forbidden thoughts. He concentrated on the memory, envisioned Laura on the stairs pulling herself up by his arm and in doing so he willed the bookshop back into existence.

 

****

 

She had grasped his arm tightly as she bent to unhook her heal from the hem of her dress, all the while never taking her eyes away from his. Realising that she had probably held his gaze for longer than was polite, for a passing stranger, she removed her hand from his arm and instead turned to gaze at the mess of books around her, nervously picking invisible lint from her sleeve.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I wear this thing. I’m always falling over it.” Bill dipped his head in brief acknowledgement before replying with a statement long ago uttered and never completely forgotten.

“You wear it because you look beautiful in it. That’s a good colour on you.”

“Thank you.” She replied simply, self consciously pushing her hair from her face, her fair skin breaking out in a deep flush against her cheeks and across the bridge of her nose. Bill’s heart leapt to see it. She was adorable. He took pity on her and followed her line of vision to the books scattered at her feet.

“Quite a mess you made. Come on, let me help you with them.”

“Thank you..again. for the help I mean”

Their heads clashed together as they reached for the same book.

“Frak”

“Frak”

They swore at the same time. Laura’s hand flew to her head, looking for damage. Finding nothing serious, she could not help but grin at her awful luck, a bubble of laughter rose in her throat.

 

****

 

Bill remembered how hard they had laughed as they had later laid naked and sated in front of the large open fire in Laura’s conservatory. Laura had rolled away from him. Stretching out across the soft cushions she had earlier thrown down, and arched her back hedonistically, letting out a soft groan. He had laughed and she had turned to him, supporting her head on her raised hand, elbow to the floor.

“What’s so funny?” a thousand different shades of copper danced in her hair, in the warm half-light cast by the fire. She had been so beautiful, so alive in that moment. Impressive for a dead woman.

“You.” Laura had shifted her head in her hand and regretted the decision immediately. “Ow!”

“What’s wrong?” he had moved over to her concern marring his features. “Nothing. I’ve...I just found the bump on my head.” Giggles consumed them both

“Come here, let me kiss it better.” He had said as he leant into her, his hand going to the back of her neck. Pulling her closer. She had laughed at the cliché, playfully struggling against his chest as he attempted to kiss the bump on her forehead.

“Not until you come up with a better line than that.” He pinned her underneath him, holding her hands above her head, as they continued to laugh and Laura pushed against his hands half heartedly trying to escape. He eventually made contact with the bump on her forehead. Kissing her there before repeating the gesture, her eyebrow, her cheek, that spot behind her ear, he already knew she loved.

“I don’t need lines. I’ve already got you naked.”

“Yeah. You do. I’m still not sure how that happened.”

“I’m not sure either. But you won’t hear me complaining.”

He sighed. Contented. Laying down beside her and pulling her once more to lay across his chest.

 It had felt like being outside, like lying underneath the stars, the roof was entirely made of glass apart from the heavy oak beams that supported it.

Bill remembered a night on sandbags and a conversation about living for the day, and pushed it deeper. To protect her, he didn’t want to remember. This. There is only this. Only here. Only the meeting in the bookshop.

 

***

“I’m so sorry. It seems I’ve dragged you into my run of bad luck. It really has been a awful day.”

As Bill gathered up the rest of the books, stacking them neatly in the box Laura handed him he replied:

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. I think you’re wrong.”

“And how’s that?”

Laura asked and tilted her head to the side, her hands loose and fidgeting at her sides. Fighting against the twin impulses of hitting him or grabbing him and kissing him.

“This is good luck. Meeting like this. It’s good. feels right.”

“You wouldn’t be hitting on me, would you Mr...”

Bill laughed as he offered her his hand again  “Adama. Bill, Adama.”

She took it. Held it firmly as her fingers traced the calloused surface of his thumb. _Laura. Her name is Laura._

_***_

The prescient knowledge of it had frightened him then. He hadn’t known what was going on. But all that had soon changed.

***

“Laura, Laura Roslin.” She confirmed. Bill had been hit by the overwhelming desire to tell her that he already knew.

“A pleasure, Miss Roslin.”

***

In the garden, Bill smiled at the realisation of just how distracted she must have been. She hadn’t bothered to correct him.

***

Bill picked up the box. It was more awkward than heavy and it rested easily on his hip. His other hand went unconsciously to the small of her back. At the time he had been horrified to notice the intimate gesture his body had performed of its own accord. It had been automatic. As if his body was already terribly familiar, accustomed to the presence of a woman he barely knew. He had been struck by the errant thought that it was because, in some unfathomable way that he could not grasp, he was.

He needn’t have worried. Laura had simply cocked an eyebrow at the gesture, and in way that was as equally intimate, she slipped her arm through the gap between his arm and torso. That too, had felt familiar. Comfortable. A  gesture repeated a million times between them and still astonishing in its newness. Carefully they began their descent down the stairs and walked towards the door of the shop.

“This is quite some reading you have ahead of you. Ovid, Homer, Apuleius, Aristophanes...” he trailed off, forgetting half of the names of the authors he had encountered while shoving their works into the tattered box.

“Oh! No Not for me. It’s an account order, for my students.”

“You’re a teacher.” _You’ve never been anything else at heart._ He thought. Yet somewhere in his mind the statement seemed only to ring half true.

“Yeah. Sorry to disappoint.”  

“You don’t. Its wonderful. You seem very happy.” She stopped at the shop entrance. Staring at him confused. He was not surprised. It had been an odd thing for him to say.

“Yes. I am. For the most part. So...Mr Adama, you still haven’t answered my question.”

“What question?'  He searched his memory, distracted by the way she pushed her hair back from her eyes, and the full force of her smile. _Oh! I remember._ * _ You wouldn’t be hitting on me, would you Mr Adama? _ *  'Oh that.” He smiled and dipped his head.

“Yes. _That_.” she leaned into him, nudging his arm. Bill pretended to take a moment to consider the situation.

“Well, I would have to say....Maybe. Just a little.” Laura squeezed his arm tightly.

“Good. I’m glad.” She replied as they continued the short walk to  her car, arm in arm. Bill grudgingly moved away from her to allow her to unlock the boot and hold it open, as he placed the box inside. Underneath the hood, their eyes met. Faces so close to each other, the air, hot and languid between them. He had been glad that she had moved away and made to close the boot when she did. He had been seconds away from kissing her.

He did not know this woman, but it was as if he always had. The chemistry between them. The knowledge of its heat was a dangerous and fragile thing. He had not wanted to frighten her with it, more than he already had.

Abruptly, she had turned to face him. Her hands once again fretful. Her fingers suddenly seeming of great interest to her. The tension was too great. Her eyes seemed to change colour with the decision, suddenly a deeper, bottomless green. She decided to break it before it broke her.

“Thank you. For everything.” He took her by the elbow and kissed her cheek.

“You’re welcome...Take care of yourself...” Bill had felt unbearable awkward in the situation. It was a feeling to which he was not accustomed, and he stumbled over his words. “...on the stairs....and you know, the such like. I might not be there to pick you up next time.” He said it knowing that he always had been and always would. Still, he cringed inwardly at the awkward, cheesy sound of it. He heard her short sharp laugh and was surprised to find the evidence of unshed tears in her eyes. They were tears long lost to him, and still familiar. Unable to clutch at the a reason for them he decided to ignore them. He took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers, unwilling to let her go so soon.

“Laura, Could I...I mean, I’d like to see you again. I think well, I know, there’s something here. We shouldn’t ...I mean, I don’t know how you feel about it, but I don’t want to let it pass me by.”

She had smiled at that. Shaking her head as if she didn’t quite believe what she was about to do. She folded her arms across her chest, and looked up at him through sullen eyelashes.

“Come home with me. Let me cook you dinner. It’s the least I can do for my knight in shining armour.”

Slowly, Laura had closed the gap between them, her  hands raised to his face, her fingers traced the outline of his jaw, his face, as heads came to rest against each other where they had so recently clashed.

He had felt overwhelmed by it. It had felt like coming home. Like he had never left. Her lips grazed his, her touch light and restrained. He struggled against the urge to kiss her back. She had sighed and hugged herself closer to him burying her head in his neck. Bill suddenly became aware of the terrible truth. Images flooded through him, flashed before his eyes. He remembered it all, and then it was gone. The world went dark. It had torn at him. Wrenched him out, the deep searing heat, the white flash of pain as he was torn limb from limb.

***

Bill shuddered at the memory. That had been the first time it had happened. Bill knew it would not be the last. For it was impossible to keep his end of the bargain, sealed in the blood of his people that day. At the time he had believed it wasn’t so much to ask, they had had so little left to risk. Organic memory transfer, he told himself it was no different to using Cylon technology to fix a dying ship. Now he knew better. Now he knew the true price, and the mistake he had made in trusting Ellen Tigh.

It was about to happen again. In the garden, the memories of first meeting Laura, here, at the end of everything, faltered and broke, the pieces intersecting with yet another memory, a piece broken from another whole. It was hazy, he could not quite bring the images to focus and yet he could feel it all.

They were standing in a bizarrely constructed hanger bay. Laura was pressed against him so tightly he could barely breathe. Her hair was different. He brushed his hand against it. The glorious red tangle was gone, replaced by something synthetic. _Cancer. She had had Cancer._ The treatment had made her loose her hair. She had been dying. And he had been slowly dying along with her, crushed by the thought of her inevitable demise. He saw the end of himself in her own death.

“I love you.” He had never heard her voice like that, so broken, so small, so weighed down by the emotion she had no room for in her heart. The feeling of pain, despair and fragile strength hovered in the air between them, and yet he did not remember why, could not discern their origins.

He only held her more tightly as words both familiar and alien fell from his lips.

“’bout time.”

Briefly, their garden snapped back into focus. It was all wrong. _Here it comes._ The sunlight, he had only moments ago felt blissfully warm on his skin, turned to darkness. Strangely it still had substance. He felt the heated pressure on his skin, a gentle caress now turned to a heavy burn.  Walls closed in on him, His world made scenery boards, rushed at him. The space in which he existed, grew smaller, and smaller, until it too, ceased to exist. The outside observer, would have only seen a man kneeling in his garden. If they had looked closely they would have been terrified to witness, the void of deepest black where his eyes should have been.

Drowning. He was drowning. There was water in his lungs, tight pressure belted around his chest. And yet he felt himself still breathing. His head broke the surface of the viscous liquid.

“Welcome back, Admiral.” Cavil loomed over him. Bill coughed, attempting to clear the viscous gloop from his lungs. His eyes flinched against the harsh cold lighting of the new resurrection hub. Bill allowed the rage, the betrayal to bubble up inside him, releasing it in a single sentiment. “frak you.”

“Now.. Now. We had a deal Admiral. And you are failing miserably at your end of the bargain. Granted, this new boxing facility has a few kinks, we can’t work out. But she remembers too much. She’s far too close to remembering, who she is. What she is. And neither of us wants that. Do we? Now how much do you remember.”

“At this moment? Everything. But in there...its sketchy at best. I’m beginning to notice the cracks. The repetitions. So is she. You’re screwed.” Bill laughed  half with  pride and half in hysterics’. “ It’s only a matter of time, before she remembers. Before she comes for you. This morning, in the bathroom, she remembered. She was confused when you reset her memory, she didn’t know where she was when she woke up this morning”

“Fix it.” Cavil hissed, as he reached his hand into the tank, grabbing Bill by the neck and forced him under, as he thrashed and struggled against this, his sixth death.

“Its not that I don’t enjoy killing you over and over, Admiral. I’m just a little busy with my new children at the moment, they are proving to be quite a handful. Things are not going to plan, not going to plan at all.”

***

Bill found himself back in the garden. Gasping for breath, he looked around, tried to get his bearings. All was well. It was as if he had never left. But Bill knew better. _Laura._ She was fighting it. Trying so hard to remember. To bring herself back. He hadn’t thought she’d had anything more to give. Had believed that knowing would have destroyed her soul completely. He had thought it was better this way. Now he was not so sure. And somewhere in the back of his mind he started to believe that they could still win. Still, he didn’t think he could let her go. Time. It was the one thing they had always been short of. But now he could give her that. They could have time. He could make her forget for a little while longer. Until he was sure everything was in place, he could make her forget.

Bill smiled as the thought flashed through his mind; they never had quite made it to dinner that night. He let out a gruff chuckle as he stood to admire his handiwork. The new flowering boarder shrubs would grow into their own in the next few months. Laura would love them. He wiped his hands on his jeans, staring up at the sky he still expected to fall at any moment. He looked at his watch. 5:30. She would be home soon. Time to put his plan into action.


	6. Never Let Me Go Part II

Laura kicked of her heels and wriggled her toes, grateful for the soft carpet that comforted her aching feet. She strode over to the desk, dumping the pile of marking, the steady stream of which, never seemed to end.

“Bill!” she yelled out as she began checking her mail. From amongst the assortment of bills and junk mail a small but thick envelope caught her attention. She felt drawn to it. There was something aesthetically pleasing about its weight. Its texture in her hands, the colour of it, it was the warm yellow of olive parchment. She brought it to her nose inhaling the oily dry scent of it. it smelled like the paper of holy books. _Like the scrolls of Pythia._

The thought took her breath away. As she opened it, her hands shook with the remembrance of things her brain had yet to process. The bitter smell of burnt parchment assaulted her. All day she had felt at a distance from herself. Disjointed and discombobulated. As if she were simply playing the role of her life. Never fully experiencing it. Everything felt wrong. Ever since the strange conversation she had had with Anna that morning, she had been plagued by the thought that there was something she was forgetting, somewhere she ought to be, and yet no matter how many times she consulted her diary, the wall planner in the office, the paperwork piling up on her desk, checking for a meeting she had, an appointment she must have forgotten, the feeling had never entirely abated. There was something there, in the back of her mind, a distant knowledge. Like a fact you know you used to know, not entirely forgotten, only hidden away, inaccessible due to dormant pathways in the brain, but there nonetheless. 

She had grasped for it, snatched at the distant hum of it. The song of a life only ever half forgotten, now forced itself upon her. This thing, this missing part of herself. Searched for, now some terrible revelation. 

_ Madam secretary. Cancer. The first visit to Galactica, the decommissioning ceremony, the attacks on the colonies, the never ending night that followed, she the prophet. The dying leader. Hera. The miracle cure from a miracle child. A stolen election. New Caprica. Re-assuming a presidency never rightfully hers. Forgiveness she could never fully make herself believe. Baltar’s trial. Cancer again. The final five. The horror of Earth, and finding home in the most unexpected of places.  All our mistakes Bill, yours and mine. What did you do? _

She did not  want any of it. The loud discordant cacophony, a physical blow that brought her to her knees and scattered the charred pages at her feet. She flattened out the pages, touching the burnt corners reverently. These pages were from her book, she had tried to destroy them. Destroy them because the false prophecy they held had destroyed her, and would  slowly destroy all those who had followed her. It had been a desperate act. The desecration only a symbol. An act she had clung to, because there was nothing else. No way to make this right. And in the end, the act itself had been futile, a metaphor that would not hold, the book of prophecy would not burn, it only smouldered and smoked. The smell clinging to her for days, haunting her. Taunting her with her failure. Like it taunted her now.

The weight of it crushed her.  She had said nothing. Done nothing. And she had made herself not care. Yes, she had been ready to die. Accepted her fate and wrapped herself in Bill and the idea of a life. A life together she knew she would never live to see. She had been ready to go. And she had known that he did not accept that, every move she had made forward, a step in leaving, had been met with a counter attack from Bill. Forcing her to become involved in decision making once more. In giving advice, in fighting for their survival, when she could not fight for her own. She knew he could never really let her go. He hadn’t even at the end, he had saved her. Ridiculously. She  was filled with the knowledge that the way she had died had been important. Not from cancer. Not from being crushed to death. No. They had faced it together. Knowing it. No longer fighting against it, and held in each others arms they had boiled away, ripped apart, molecule by molecule in the cold and the dark of unforgiving space.

_ I’ll see you soon  _

He had said it with the conviction of a pious man. In certain knowledge of what was to come. If she had thought it sweet, comforting and yet strange to hear at the time, then now, it was nothing but the cold indictment of his guilt. Proof enough of his betrayal. He was complicit in their final destruction. But why and how she could not fathom. If this was Elysium she should not remember, the legends told that no one who crossed the great river ever did. So where was she? What was she ? And where was everyone else? And what of Bill? There had been a time when she had thought it possible, but not now. Not after everything. There had to be a reason, an explanation, and yet she couldn’t think of one that would calm her, one that would make any kind of sense.

Heaving sobs of rage filled her chest. As tears of anger, betrayal and hurt streamed down her face, she reached out for the pages of Pythia tearing at their remains, screwing the pieces into balls. “No. No. It’s not true. This isn’t real. Take it away!! I don’t want it. I don’t want it!!” She screams hysterically. Slamming her fists into the hard wooden floor.

“Laura? What are you doing?” The tone. The cadence of his voice is identical to the memory of  his presence when she burned these same pages before her. Just like then, she has no idea of how long he has been standing there. Of how much he has seen. Briefly she believes that the man standing before her, is only a trick of her mind too. From her position on the floor she looks up at him with cold hatred in her eyes. In the silent distance between them they can feel their hearts breaking, and she knows this is Bill. The knowledge of that is not comforting. It only fuels her rage.

“What. Did.You. DO!!” 

Each word is deliberate, punctuated with a slam of her fists into the floor. It hurts. She is hurting herself and it feels good. Surely a dead woman shouldn’t feel physical pain. But she does. It’s real and alive. And she is somehow grateful of that. The last word is screamed. Her voice breaks, turning to murmured sobs as she falls forward onto crumpled arms. She feels the darkness envelop her. knows now, the brightness of it. it is time moving forward. It carries her with it. one last sensation; the feel of his fingers in her hair. The sound of his voice:

“Shh...Laura. It’ll All be over in a minute. You won’t remember a thing.”  

It is  his most fervent wish. But even as he utters the words, he knows. He has seen it in her eyes. She has come too far to go back now. She will still remember. She will want answers, and they will have to be careful. He fears for her because he knows he can no longer protect her. He is too late. It’s time to go back.

 


	7. Never Let Me Go Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * warnings for dark, angry sex *

He hates this. Hates this part of his existence here. If he were a man who easily gave in to his guilt, he might believe it to be his punishment for this deal he has made with beings, demons worse than the devil. They are not people. Still, he refuses to consider them as such. That would be dangerous. That would require compassion. That is something he cannot find in himself to give. No. He will not think of them as a people. Not yet. But thanks to him they are closer than they have ever been. He knows that sooner than he would like he will have to accept what they, what he, what monstrous thing they have all become. Worse still, if he ever makes it out of here, he will have to face Laura. She’ll never forgive him. He knew that going in. But he had hoped she would understand.

 He knows  that had it all gone to plan, had he succeeded in saving them all, not just the lucky few who knowing death, had faced it willingly, had embraced it. Had loved it for what it was and in doing so had achieved the mindset required for organic memory transfer to be possible, then, she might even have been grateful. He had been shocked to learn that so few had made the transition, still could not help but think that there had been a  deliberate sin of omission, or worse, on Cavil’s part. For the last four years they had lived with death, had carried it with them, had known it on a daily basis. He had thought that would be enough. But still, to the very end people had fought it, and perished because of it. They had not been ready to die. Now it seemed that those who had, were not taking kindly to their new existence.

Bill snorted, drained the whiskey in his glass. He hoped they were giving Cavil hell. Laura would stay. She would fight. Would feel obligated to lead. Would need, on a more personal level to seek her revenge. Bill had bet on it. Cavil had feared it, and so it had become his job to keep her here. Boxed, her memories locked away even from herself. She could not be dangerous. Could not lead the people. Frightened and alone, more cylon than human, the few thousand that remained, could be controlled, could be learned from. He had felt torn, at once wanting and hoping she would remember while willing her to forget. And he wondered why he had ever agreed to this. Deep inside his heart he knew why. He had agreed because he was weak. Had agreed because he couldn’t let her go. Still, he told himself it was more than that.

Cavil had agreed to peace, an equal existence. Ellen had spoken eloquently of the promise of a new civilisation, no longer cylon or human, springing from the ashes, of breaking the cycle. She spoke of visions of prophecy. Of texts far older than Pythia. The Gods knew he had had his fill of those, the dreams that offered the promise of everything and came to nothing. And yet, she had laid out before  him the promise of settlement, a utopian vision that was far more comforting than their present reality. Saul had begged him to listen. Had been convinced they were real. He could do nothing but trust that. And while he hadn’t believed Cavil for a second. Ellen’s vision had been...well he had wanted to believe it was possible. It was at any rate the best of limited options. He had let her manipulate him. Let her use the promise of Laura, his dreams of her alive and well. His dream that they might live out there days together, quiet and content, in a log cabin, in a quiet corner of paradise, with fertile earth beneath their feet. He still could not bare to think about it. 

Laura who had laid in his arms, vital and alive just a few months ago, could barely hold herself up by then, and he had barely been able to  look at her for knowledge that she seemed to accept so lightly. Only her eyes were still defiant by that point. They always reminded him, _Yes I’m dying. I’m not afraid._

It all came down to that in the end. He had not been able to contemplate the thought of loosing her. Even if it meant killing her himself. Laura knew death. Had felt it on her more than once. Had made her peace with it. If anyone could survive it, it would be her. He had not talked to her about these plans. Had not wanted to burden her with the knowledge of it. And of course that was a lie too. He had been afraid of what she would say, afraid of the possibility that she might even agree to it, make it her burden too. He had been a coward. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

He stared at her coldly. At this thing that sat opposite him, at   _their_ dining table and pretended to be Laura. Her black bottomless eyes stared vacantly at a point in space fixed somewhere over his left shoulder. He turned, following the line of her vision. An act he had repeated numerous times in the last four hours. Whatever it was that held her attention, he could not see it. Perhaps they were being watched. He knew it was likely, considering how much Cavil had seemed to know the last time they had met. It was a thought he did not want to contemplate. Moment by moment the fear, and the hope, increased that she was gone for good. Cruel explanations flitted through his mind; they had found a more effective, more secure alternative to this crude boxing facility, she was in a body alien to her, locked away on some deep dark corner of a baseship, sailing to nowhere. He hoped for more, hoped she found herself in her own body, hoped Starbuck was there to help her. Hoped against hope that they might still find a way out of this. Mostly, he focussed on the idea that he would be forced to live out eternity with this cold approximation of his love. It was incredibly selfish. He smiled at the thought, no, it was incredibly human.

This thing in front of him was not. True, it played at it well. She nibbled at the food he had served her, sipped at her wine. Reacted to his movements, his requests and interactions almost appropriately, albeit silently. Yes, the movement was there, but the light, the soul, was missing. Laura was missing. Laura, who never picked at her food, but devoured it, enjoyed and savoured it. Laura who took bigger sips of wine, and swirled it around her mouth, contemplated and appreciated its taste and aroma,  before she ever swallowed it.

He stood, jarring the table with the abrupt action. It barely flinched. Barely reacted. He moved behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders, moved her hair aside and bent to nibble at her ear, in a move that was guaranteed to result in a desire filled whimper from the real Laura. This one barely reacted. Did not protest, just barely leant into the touch. He buried his nose where her neck met her shoulder. She smelled like Laura, tasted like her. He felt nothing for her. not the slightest prick of desire, that by now, should have been coursing through his veins. He bit hard into her shoulder. Nothing. He grunted in satisfaction. He had been right. This thing was nothing like her. And  this, he knew, was a stupid frakking game. Trying to provoke a reaction from this thing, trying to bring Laura back through his own act of will, through sheer force of provocation. All the while, hoping that she would not.

Still he willed her back, tempting her with the things she loved. The things she hated. He went back to his seat, deliberately scraping the legs of the chair against the hard wooden floor. The sound would always make Laura cringe, not to mention provoke a long lecture on the subject of how difficult it was to repair scratches to the varnished wood of the floor. Bill sighed, he was even beginning to miss being shouted at. Angrily he shoved a now cooling bowl of food in it’s direction. The bowl span on the table, threatened to topple over, before settling.

“Here, have some noodles.”

Obediently, it started to pick at them. Bill couldn’t help but laugh. Laura would be royally pissed if she came back now, to find herself with a mouthful of noodles. As he absently watched it eat, he was struck by the irony that he had prepared this meal as part of his grand plan for seduction, all in aide of a night of perfect life, a string of perfect moments designed in accordance with the rules that made up the art of forgetting. Nothing now, could be further from his mind.

***

She never expected it to feel like this. Secretly, she had contemplated it many times. In her darkest of places she had feared it. Ever since the day she had accused Bill of being a Cylon, and he had planted the suggestion that for all he knew, she might be a cylon too, she had not been able to completely erase the notion from her mind. Other events had fuelled her imagination. The realisation that it was likely that everyone passed Baltar’s cylon detector had  not helped, neither had the contemplation of the ramifications of her miracle cure. She had been exposed to Cylon blood. It was part of her now. If she hadn’t been before, did that make her part Cylon now? If that were the case, why had the cancer returned? The effect must have been impermanent. That thought, even though it meant facing it all again, she had found strangely comforting. Still, it was her deepest fear and yet she could not conceive of it being true.

She had, unsurprisingly, often dreamt of her own death. The bit she never told Bill about was waking up in a resurrection tank. Knowing. Hoping she was dreaming, and trying to force herself to wake up. In her dreams it had never felt like this. Her dreams had been serene, the experience peaceful, until she realised where she was and started to panic. This. The reality. This hurt. It was painful. She couldn’t breath. Her skin was cold. Limbs heavy and numb. It felt like someone was pushing burning hot needles into her brain. She did not think she was dreaming now. She remembered dying. Remembered what she though had been Elysium turning into a living nightmare. Remembered Bill. Remembered it all coming back to her. Remembered screaming at him and clawing at the floor, remembered the darkness encroaching and the world falling in on her, only to wake up here. And to top it all off, standing over her, attempting something like comforting words, was Ellen Tigh.

“it’s okay Laura, You’re Ok. Remember to breath.” Ellen’s hand reached out to her, went to stroke her hair.

“Get you’re frakking hands off me!!” The violent anger with which the statement was delivered knocked Ellen back. She flinched away from Laura. She had expected confusion. Hurt even, but never this level of abject rage.

Contrary to all the evidence that surrounded her, Laura knew it couldn’t be true. Her memories were real. They people she had known, the friends and family she had known and loved and lost, one after the other. It was all painfully real. She was no cylon. Not in the traditional sense. But something had happened. She had died she was sure of that, she had woken up elsewhere. To a new life, too perfect to accept, she was sure of that too.

She looked Ellen coldly in the eye. “I am not a Cylon.” It was a statement of fact. Ellen folded her arms around her as if she was trying to protect herself. She winced at the words, tilted her head to the side and looked at Laura, in what seemed like an attempt at sympathy. Cautiously she walked toward Laura coming to kneel at the side of the tank. Attempted to reach out once more. Laura held up her hands in warning, scooted as far back from her as the confined space and her numb limbs would allow. Ellen gave up and rested her head on her arms leaning on the rim of the tank. She spoke softly, awe colouring her voice.

“No. No. You’re not. You’re something far more important than that. I knew John was wrong in thinking he could keep you boxed forever. We’ve had our differences Laura, but I always respected you. I knew you were stronger than that. You all are. That’s where he made the mistake.” She stood again and started to pace around the barren grey red room. “ But you! I have to say I’m impressed. I thought it would take longer to break you. To make you remember. But you knew already. Something seemed very wrong from the minute you got there didn’t it? Left to your own devices I think you would have remembered anyway”

Laura’s eyes followed Ellen through the room. But she refused to speak. “So, you’re lucky we stole your pattern when we did, or you’d be in all kinds of hell right now.” Ellen paused, chuckling at her own bad joke. She sighed “ It is unfortunate that the same cannot be said for Bill. John has that locked away somewhere no one can find it. He always was a secretive little thing. I’m so sorry, Laura.”

Laura hid it well. While she didn’t entirely believe Ellen, would never entirely trust her, suspected ulterior motives. Her heart broke a just a little more at the prospect of  never seeing him again. At the knowledge that he would suffer, while she seemed relatively safe. She didn’t even flinch.

Ellen sighed in resignation. Nothing. No reaction to her little display. Only a cold ice green stare that followed her around the room with an intensity that felt as if it would drill holes into her skull. How very disappointing. A different tact was required. Perhaps a slightly softer truth would be easier to bear.  Ellen stared at Laura as if she were something she just wiped off the sole of her shoe. 

“Come on. There’s someone who wants to see you.”

Laura did not move. Just raised  an eyebrow, and attempted to stare  Ellen down. It wasn’t working. Curiosity won out. Laura nodded in the direction of a row of robes and a stack of towels against the far wall. “Do I at least get a towel?”

Ellen stared at her dumfounded. Before snapping  “Oh for God’s sake!” she grabbed at one, flinging it unceremoniously at Laura, hoping that it would end up not in her hands but in the tank of sticky goo.

“Turn around.” Laura ordered. Ellen complied, but not without casting a brief glare over her shoulder. “You know, its not like I haven’t seen it all before. After all, it was me who grew you a new body. That mole is in an interesting place isn’t it?”

Laura stood on shaky legs and wrapped the towel around herself, before stepping out of the tank trying not to slip, or fall down. Gods she felt like crap. She clung to the side of it for stability. She refused to ask her for help.

“Shut up, Ellen.” 

Ellen turned back to face her. She smirked. 

“See? Just like your old self already.”

***

Starbuck wondered how it was that she had managed to end up behind bars again. Sure knocking out Ellen cold and taking down a dozen centurions in an effort to get of the basestar and find the old man’s pattern might have had something to do with it. She should have had a better plan. Any plan at all would have had more of a chance than run and work it all out on the way, but then she had never been much for plans....sooner or later they all went to shit anyway.

She huffed, sat down on the floor of her cell and started tapping out the rhythm of that stupid frakking song on the floor with her fingernails. You would think that after everything it wouldn’t matter anymore. That knowing what it meant would get it out of her head. But it mattered more than ever. It consumed her, drove her forward. She had to get out. Had to find them, all of them. This was the end. What she had been born and reborn for. If there was ever going to be a beginning. She had to find them. There were so few left they couldn’t afford to leave them in the hands of Cavil. Why couldn’t Ellen see that? Why couldn’t Tigh? And Sam...all he had ever seen was the big picture stuff..the end game. To Sam, all was as it should be .Well he was wrong. Sam..Sam could go frak himself.

She looked down at her hands, still tapping out the song. The rhythm had changed. It was intermittent, at counterpoint to another not of her creation. She listened. Heavy. Like wet footsteps, and another the crack of high heels. It stopped. And so did she.

“Kara!” it was the sound of relief. In a voice, a cadence, she had never believed she would hear again. She looked up to see Laura Roslin wrapped in a towel, still caked in goo. Kara could barely remember her looking so vital. So alive. Out of habit she got to her feet snapping to attention. Only the cocky grin plastered across her face gave away the affection she felt for the woman before her, the relief that she was back.

“Madam Prez.” She reached through the bars to touch her offered hand. As their hands entangled. Kara let out a laugh. She had expected more tricks, more deception. Had half expected her had to meet thin air rather than solid flesh.

“Death becomes you.”  Kara cringed at the words that had just left her mouth. Laura just laughed. As inappropriate as the joke was and in as much bad taste as it was possible to be, it spoke to her sense of humour.

“It’s good to see you. I didn’t think anyone would be left...not after.”

“You can’t kill a dead girl..well not really. It’s complicated.”

“That much I’m beginning to understand.”  Kara could feel the hurt. The anger, resonating off her. It  passed like an electric current through her hand. Kara opened her mouth. She wanted so much to tell Laura that she knew what it was like, that she understood. But she couldn’t find the words. There wasn’t a language in existence that had words for this. So she just nodded. Tried to withdraw her hand. Laura only held more tightly, until Kara acquiesced to the silent request to remain. Rolling her shoulders in acceptance of the facts before her.

“So you did it. You brought her back.” Her question was directed at Ellen who stood off to the side pretending to look uninterested in the scene playing out before her, but no doubt taking in every word that was said.

“Yes.”

“Why?” Laura flinched at the anger in Kara’s voice. Ellen’s voice was low, quiet and almost defeated.

“Because you were right. Because we need them. Because I thought she could help.”

“And the Old Man?” despair and hope played across Kara’s face in equal measure. Ellen walked closer to the cell door. Shaking her head. “No. We don’t have the pattern. There’s nothing I can do.”

“That never stopped you before.”

“ I don’t think he’d be amiable to waking up in the body of an 6 do you?” Laura slowly turned to face Ellen. Disbelief written on her face. “What?”

“A lot has happened Laura, I’ll leave you  two to talk.” With that she turned and walked away, the cell door swinging open as she left.

“Guess that means I’m sprung.” Kara went to leave the cell, but was forced back further into it, as Laura made a cautious entrance and sat down on her bunk. Kara pushed her hair back from her eyes in frustration and sat next to her. She was not looking forward to this conversation. They sat in silence for a long time. Each contemplating their hands and wondering if there was a good way to start a conversation like this.

“I...”

“I...” They both started at the same time. The tension breaking in a shared smile before reforming again just as quickly. Kara took a deep breath.

“First off, let me just say...don’t be angry with him.”

“Don’ be angry? That’s All you’ve got for me? I don’t even know where I am. What I am. All I know is that he let it happen. Worse still, I think he probably made it happen. After everything we worked for, he let us all die. You can’t forgive a betrayal like that.”

“He forgave you.” Her voice is quiet, a barely dared whisper.

“Excuse me?” 

“He forgave you. For Kobal. A lot of people died, the fleet got turned upside down by it. And he forgave you. Is this situation really so different?”

“I don’t know what this situation is.” Kara was struck by the irony of it. The absurdity of two dead women sitting in a cell debating the finer points of ethics and forgiveness. A hint of angry laughter coloured her words.

“You know, you really aren’t so different, you and him, not at the root of it. You think you work so well together, love each other even, because you’re such absolute opposites. But that’s not true. When it comes down to it,  he just wants to believe. Just like you. He wanted to believe. Believe in me. In Tigh, even maybe in Ellen, He wanted. Needed there to be a reason for all of it. He wanted to believe we could still survive, more, that we could live. And let’s face it, there was so little left to loose. We were going to die anyway. The ship couldn’t take another beating. And then there was you. He wasn’t ready to let you go.”

Laura felt uncomfortable at hearing the words, such difficult truths from someone else’s mouth. But there they were. And she could not deny them.

“No but I was. I was ready to die. I made my peace with that a long time ago.”

“I know.  You wouldn’t be here if that wasn’t true. He knew that. That’s what he bet on. You and Me. It was our insurance against Cavil.”

“I  don’t understand. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Let’s try starting at the beginning.”

“There was a meeting. The day the we decided to go and find Hera. We took one look at the recon pictures and we knew there was no way in. The brute force of a broken Battlestar just wasn’t gonna cut it. We needed leverage. Needed to offer Cavil something that was more tempting than the thought of cutting Hera to pieces. When Ellen said that it was finally all starting to come together, that she was starting to understand. You see, Hera, Me, You, what happened to Sam, Even Baltar...it’s all connected. This. This is the truth of the Opera house.” Kara grasped for Laura’s hands, desperate to make her understand through the will of her touch alone. 

“It made us all listen. She said that she thought there was a way to make him think he was getting what he wanted;  the guarantee of the growth and survival of the Cylon race. What it really gave us  was the chance  to live. None of us believed her, not about the visions. But, we all listened.”

***

“Bill..I know, it’s a lot to ask, but just listen. Let her speak. It makes a lot of sense.” Saul pleaded.

“Sense? You’re talking about making sense? Nothing makes sense anymore.” Bill replied.

Saul grunted in agreement. “True enough. So what can it hurt?” All eyes in the room were on him as he nodded his acceptance.

“Ok. Make it good.” Ellen nodded and shifted nervously on her feet.

“We can give him organic memory transfer. It was a common process on Kobal before the fall. It required an act of absolute will in the moments before death. It required facing death without fear, knowing it and willing yourself to pass through, to find and make the choice, to return in a willing host.”

“A willing host? You’re talking about the first cylons, the thirteenth tribe?” Bill sneered. He still had not come to terms with the idea of an ancient race of machines as old as any civilisation he was aware of.

“Yes. And no. They weren’t Cylons, not in the way you think of them. Anyway, the point is, it was a process that was remembered as having once been possible, a story passed on in the hybrid texts. But the how, had been thought lost forever. Until now. Its amazing really. It’s happening again, quite naturally. And there’s your evidence.” She said pointing an accusatory finger at Starbuck. Whose back went ridged as she felt the attention of everyone on her.

“Wait. Go back a step, You said hybrid texts? Hybrids have books now?”

“Really Bill, such a traditionalist. No of course not. I mean oral texts, stories, histories, shared between hybrids, expanded upon and added to over thousands of years and shared between them in the spaces between matter. Whispered in the very building blocks of the universe. When you hear them speak, its those texts you’re listening to.”

“And Starbuck?”

“Yes. Starbuck. She’s very special but you already knew that. I gather, since we’re here you’ve been talking to Sam too. What is it he keeps saying? A new home for Kara Thrace? She is the harbinger of all our deaths. But not in the way we all imagined. I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it all. The end, and the beginning. If we do this, we break the cycle. We all win. We all live. Together. A new civilization, a new species rising from the ashes.” 

Ellen levelled her gaze at Starbuck. “This is it. What you’ve been waiting your whole life to learn. This is the truth of the opera house, the end of the song. You feel it still, pulling us all to our end. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know Ellen. You’re so good at this head-frak manipulation. You tell me.” She replied squaring up to her. Lee stepped between them fearing it would come to blows. “Stop it ! Both of you! Now, what exactly are you saying Ellen? That we trade Starbuck for Hera? Because that’s not gonna happen.”

“Yeah. It is. I’ll go.”

“Kara! Are you crazy? Stupid question! You don’t have to...”

“No. That’s not what I’m saying.” Ellen interrupted.

“Then get to the point.” Bill ordered.

“ I’m getting to it. John is well aware of  the possibility of organic memory transfer. Probably even toyed with it, after the loss of the resurrection hub. The advantage of it is, in its most basic form, it requires no technology. The process is entirely natural. The problem is willing hosts. And the diversity of those hosts. He doesn’t need resurrection technology to grow bodies, all he needs is what we call a pattern. A complete DNA profile. Due to Baltar’s Cylon testing, and medical records, you have the DNA profile of everyone in the fleet. But he only has seven to play with and with each culturing the pattern degrades. What we can offer him are those patterns.”

“You want to give him our DNA profiles? It doesn’t make sense. I have a body. I came back flesh and bone and whole.” Starbuck snapped.

“Yes that is puzzling. Someone grew you a body, I can’t help but wonder who. Its unlikely that we can rely on that same benefactor.”

Bill wondered at the tone of her voice, was going to ask the question, but Tigh got there first. 

“Do you know?...I said do you know who it was?!” he said grabbing her arms and shaking her.

“No. I have no idea.” She said it quietly and with such conviction, Bill believed her, Tigh didn’t look so sure.

“Why give him the patterns? How does that save the fleet?”

“It doesn’t.  But it gives us a chance. John will leave Hera alone. We get the chance to rescue her. But you know as well as I do, that its unlikely that  we get out of this alive. He’ll destroy us. Then he’ll go after the fleet. Giving him the DNA profiles, letting him think they’re his to use as he will, It gives us a chance. It gives us bodies, empty hosts, to come back to for those who can make the transition. Not everyone will make it. There’ll be plenty to go around.”

“You’re insane. Why would you think I would ever agree to this. Even if I wanted to. Those profiles, that promise of life, they aren’t mine to give. People would have to know. They would have to give permission.”

“Insane? Maybe..but I’ve seen it Bill, I’ve seen the future. A future where there’s no difference between human and cylon, a future where through death we’ve transcended all the boundaries. It’s so peaceful. Happy, my children all happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And you were so happy. She was alive Bill. Laura, will live through this, you’ll be together.”

“Don’t. Don’t bring her into this. How dare you try and manipulate my father like that. Dangle the one thing he wants most in his face...”

“Why? What do you want Lee? Because I guarantee you, It’s there for you too.”

“Paradise. You’re offering paradise. As tempting as that is, we’ve heard it all before.” Bill replied embarrassed and already defeated. Whatever the consequences, it was an idea, at the very least it might buy them some time.

“You have. Except this time it’s real. This time it’s possible.”

Bill spread his hands out over the table in front of him, ran his hands over star charts, co-ordinates and recon pictures that seemed to mean so little in the face of so much.

“Ok. We do this. Aside from everything else, offering Cavil something he wants, it can buy us some time to get in and out. Agreed?”

 The sounds of shifting feet and uncomfortable sighs resonated around him. Bill looked into each face. Lee, Kara, Tigh and Kara. Apart from Laura, these were the people who mattered most to him, it hurt to only see resignation and sorrow on their faces, to receive only regretful nods from around the table.

The meeting over, people filed out his quarters and he moved to follow them. He felt Ellen grab his arm. Saw Starbuck standing in the doorway, as if on guard. “ Bill. You can’t tell them. You can’t ask their permission. It will make the success of their transference less likely.  And, if you want to be sure  she’ll make it, you can’t tell her either. The act of will must be selfless. Must be free of want. Free of the  desire to succeed.”

***

“He didn’t tell you, because he was trying to protect you. Trying to make sure you would come back.” Laura shook her head.

“Bullshit. He didn’t tell me because he’s a coward. He didn’t tell me because he knew I would question his decision, make him see the flaws, worst of all I might have agreed with him, and then in his mind, if I hadn’t made it, my death, would have been his guilt. His fault. He was protecting himself.” 

 

 Kara had never thought she would see Laura like this. She had been more under control the day she’d held a gun to her head. Afraid certainly, but in control, her voice clear and unshaken as she asked _They made you perfect, didn’t they?_ Kara had spent a lot of time wondering about that. A lot of time in a cell not so dissimilar to this one. Now she knew the truth. They were not made perfect. They feared. They were as angry as before, only now there was something missing. The feeling of  entitlement was gone, replaced by the knowledge that by rights they should be dead, were living on borrowed time. That left you raw. It left you open. It made you vulnerable. This was a different Laura. The President. The dying leader she had been was dead. Would not be coming back. She was in pain. She was hurting and there was nothing that could heal that. Nothing apart from accepting this new reality. Tears slipped from blonde lashes.

 

“He gave up the promise of his own happiness. Of his own life. For us. For the people of the fleet.” She sniffed.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You know that we took a raptor to Cavil’s base, under the pretence of a talk, to..to discuss terms of surrender. You were told it was recon to find out where Hera was being held. To confirm proof of life.” Laura nodded.

 

“I remember.”

 

“It was part true. We offered him the DNA profiles in exchange for Hera’s safety. He didn’t buy it, wanted guarantees that  any reborn people of the fleet would be under his command. That Ellen wouldn’t interfere with any of her grand utopian ideals of a new civilisation. He believed that they only way that was possible was if he could be guaranteed that the leaders of the fleet, you, and the Admiral would not return. If you survived the transfer those memories, your consciousness would be boxed permanently. In return he promised peace, and the survival of anyone who transferred. The old man, he made the deal. Made the best of a bad situation, and we set about making plans for a revolution. Should the worst happen.”

 

Laura grimaced. Not wanting any part of it. “And this is it, is it? This is your grand plan?”

 

“He believed in you.” Laura’s head shot up at Kara’s use of the past tense. “Believes in you. Knew that we were almost guaranteed survival. He believed that you would fight it. That you could be made to remember when the time was right. I left with Ellen on the fleet’s baseship,  with a few others, as insurance.” Kara tried to smile. “The idea was that we could ignite an insurgency from inside the ranks of Cavil’s new uber-cylons. In ten days we planned to meet at a set of co-ordinates transmitted on every known frequency. The song the final five heard, the same song that my dad played for me, and Hera drew the notes to, it’s a set of encoded co-ordinates. We didn’t have time to go see what’s there, but I know its home.” Laura’s eyes were tearful.

 

“Don’t. Don’t do this to me again...I can’t do this again.”

 

“Laura...Madam President, you have to understand, you have to know, something is very wrong. Ellen is obsessed. Obsessed with this idea of creating this utopian civilisation. Before we left, she stole some patterns, yours included it seems. Cavil was so pissed when he found out, he destroyed the entire fleet. Not everyone makes it. But still, there aren’t enough bodies to go around, so she started offering up spare 6 patterns she had lying around as hosts. People are waking up in bodies that aren’t their own. Last thing I knew before today, we were going to leave the people trapped with Cavil and make our own way there. Something seems to have changed her mind. Something that made her bring you back. So you have to stay. You have to stay or it all falls apart again.” 

 

Kara spoke with the same desperate conviction she carried with her regarding Earth. It scared Laura. The idea that this journey would only resort in the same disappointment. Suddenly she wants nothing more than to forget, to go back to Bill and their perfect, if unreal existence.

 

Defiantly Laura raises her chin. “What makes you so sure that all of this is real? That this time it’s true?”

 

“I’m sure because this time I didn’t see it. This time I feel it. Feel the miracle Sam talked about. Its the pattern. It’s coming together.”

 

Laura nodded, smiling just a little too coldly for Kara’s liking. “Knowing the truth of the Opera house, that’s what you think all this is about?”

 

“I know it.” Laura nodded slowly. She had made her decision and got to her feet. “You once held a gun to my head and asked me to trust you, because once, you foolishly trusted me. I didn’t trust you then, so I owe you one. I’m trusting you now. Don’t let me down.” Laura said her voice unstable and cracking with emotion.

 

“Never.”  It was a promise, in her own way. “We need to find the Old Man.” Laura remembers Bill’s voice. His warning this morning, begging her to forget. He remembered. He remembered and had tried to protect her from this. She hates that she cannot do the same for him. Hates that she needs him with her even now and a small part of her softens, she is not quite as angry as she was. The rage she feels is slowly dying in the face of purpose.

 

“Cavil has his pattern?”

 

“Yeah. We think so.” Laura nodded. Paced back and forth, tapping her fingers on her lips as she formulated a plan of action.

 

“I have an idea. I think the Admiral remembers more than he was letting on, the boxing facility we were in, is incredibly unstable. There were ...cracks.  Maybe, there’s a way out. So, the question is....How do I get back in the box?”

 

***

The thing in front of him slumps forward. The image of Laura flickers. Distorting before his eyes as she resets. Finally, when it opens it’s eyes, it is Laura that stares back at him. He thinks it strange. He feels nothing of the overwhelming relief he anticipated. This isn’t part of the plan. If she is back then something is wrong. He knows he should be worried and yet he cannot feel guilty at having her here. He feels only a desperate need to touch her. To make things right between them. He knows that want is something impossible. He stays still. Unmoving. He knows she would not welcome his touch now. The brief press of his lips on hers are a distant dream, only a longing, and yet he still hopes.

“You’re back. I didn’t think you’d be coming back.” His fingers worry the empty glass in his hand.

 

“What’s the matter Bill? Things not going to plan?” She knows her words are cruel. But right now there is a very large part of her that wants nothing more that to tear holes in him and rub salt into the open wounds she knows she can, all to easily, create. There is a awful taste in her mouth. One she doesn’t think she can blame on her re-boxing. She reaches for the wine in front of her. Draining the glass. “What the hell have I been eating?”

 

“You don’t want to know.” Bill grunts and gets up to refill his own glass. “So, you gonna tell me what’s going on? How’d you get back here?” Laura’s neck aches. Cramping. The ghost of a memory.

 

“Starbuck. I think she broke my neck.” Her voice is ice cold.

 

“You think?” 

 

“It’s... it’s already fuzzy. I’m forgetting already. So, you gonna tell me what this is all in aide of? What’s the occasion? ”  Bill looked puzzled. Her words and sultry body language did not match the expression of anger and upset on her face as she got up and sauntered towards him. He had been expecting a fight. He had been expecting anything but the feel of her arms going around him, and the press of her face into his neck. He had expected anything but the hard press of her lips against his and her brief whimper as his tongue duelled with hers, or the “I love you” she breathed into his neck. Her next words were barely audible, and the realisation dawned on him that she hadn’t wanted anyone but him to hear her, or see the pain and betrayal written on her beautiful face. “But I don’t forgive you. I remember everything. I’ve been back and this time I’m not going to forget.  I won’t even pretend to understand what you think you’ve been doing all this time, but right now we both need to get out of here, and we need to do it without Cavil noticing, and believe me when I say that when we do, I am going to have a lot to say to you.” Another tiny piece of his heart broke away as he felt her hands on his chest pushing him away as she stepped out of his arms. Her back was turned to him, her shoulders hunched and defeated, her arms locked against the table as if it were the only source of support she could depend on right now, a single tear slid down her cheek, and she brushed it away quickly. 

 

“Laura...I..” She felt his hands on her shoulders, the brush of his hand against her hair. She whirled around to face him. The feeling of rage was overwhelming. “How ..” she had been about to scream at him, she wanted him to feel it. Only the sure and certain knowledge that they were being listened to stopped her and she threw up her hands in frustration. 

“Don’t.” Bill stepped forward reaching for her again. He was overwhelmed by the urge to hold her, to let her rage against him, she could hit him, she could scream and cry and he would never let her go. He wasn’t capable.  “Don’t. You don’t get to touch me right now.”  Only the green fire in her eyes made him back off. Now wasn’t the time. She needed space to calm down, and they both needed time to think. He nodded his consent and backed away.

 

“I was..um. I was about to make coffee. I thought we might drink it in the conservatory. By the fire. You always liked it there.”

 

“I Did.” Her expression softened slightly. “I still do.” Laura realised that she had been hugging herself tightly, she untangled her arms and tried to smile, tried to look him in the eye. Thought about reaching out to him. Wanted to take his arm, but could not quite bring herself to do so.  “Coffee huh?”

 

“Yeah.” He smiled back. Knowing that they weren’t really talking about coffee anymore.

 

“That sounds good.”

 

Bill simply nodded and went to boil some water.

 

***

 

Bill walked into the conservatory armed with a peace offering of coffee and the knowledge that it would take a lot more than that t make things right between them. Laura sat among scattered cushions on the floor by the fire, her legs raised to her chest. She looked so small, her watery eyes glinting in the firelight. He was silent as he handed her a mug.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Her whole body stiffened as he sat behind her and pulled her closer to him. It was an act he barely contemplated performing anymore, it was so natural. But everything was different now and he wondered if it could ever be the same again. “Laura” he sighed her name into her shoulder. Placed a kiss there. Just as he had so many times before. He wanted her to lean into him. Wanted to feel her close. She only glared at him over her shoulder.

 

“Ok look. We have to be close enough to talk. Close enough he can’t hear it.” He rationalised. “alright.” She shifted back into him, rested her head against him, but did not relax. The tension in her shoulders was palpable. They both breathed deeply at the contact, each for their own reasons. 

 

Silently, they sipped at the coffee, Neither wanting to start the conversation they knew must be had. It was a conversation as old as story telling itself. The lovers pact, a tragedy in a single act, all for the greater good.

 

“So are you going to tell me how this is gonna  work? You and Starbuck have a plan I take it?” His mouth was pressed into her neck, Laura’s back arched involuntarily at the contact. To any observer of the scene, it looked like an act of love, the whisper of sweet nothings. In truth their words were anything but inconsequential.

 

Laura grabbed at his shirt and turned her head into his shoulder, enjoying the contact. The smell of him, more that she thought she ought to enjoy the smell, the contact, of a man she hated. It was then she knew, she didn’t have it in her to hate him, not really, not completely. It would take time, but they would work through this. If they came out of this whole and alive, their relationship would be for the most part intact. Then she would indulge in the luxury of her anger. But not now. Not when there was so little time left here. In the perfect world of their own construction. Her body finally relaxed in his embrace and she shuddered as she felt arousal coursing through her veins.

 

“If all goes well on Starbucks end, in approximately two hours, there’ll be a serious disruption to the matrix of the boxing facility we’re in. It won’t last long, but if we time it properly, there should be enough time for our consciousness to escape between the disruption and before the matrix reconfigures. To Cavil, it should just look like a glitch in the programming.” She whispered into his chest. She felt his body lurch away from her and when Laura looked questioningly at him she saw his abject horror at what she had been about to suggest. His hands went to cradle her head as he pressed his forehead against hers.

 

“I won’t do it Laura. I can’t.” His voice cracked with emotion and she could feel the wetness of tears that were not her own against her skin. It was not a casual  protest. That much she had expected. He meant this with his whole being, and that had been the problem from the start, she was his weakness. The one thing he could not let go. There was nothing she could say to make it otherwise, she could only promise that this was not the end. That if they could do this, they would have the beginning, the peace they had always sought, together. She kissed him hard, pouring everything into the kiss because she had no words for any of it. when they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other she spoke.

 

“I know you don’t want to. But you can. And you will. Because this was your plan, and we’re going to see it through. And I can’t do it alone. I need you. I need you to kill me. Then yourself. I need you to do this for me, because I’m afraid that I can’t see it through myself.. There aren’t any guns here. It’s not a simple as putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger, and if we don’t get this right the first time there’s not going to be a second chance. Besides, if you remember, I was never a good shot to begin with.” She laughed through tears as she touched his beloved craggy face. He smiled through unshed tears.

 

“I’ve told you before, doubt will do that to anybody.”

 

Laura turned fully in his lap pressing her whole body against his, her hand brushing the thick hair at his temple. “Then you can’t doubt. Don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt yourself. Believe that this is right.”

 

“Is it really necessary? Can’t we just ..I don’t know, think, or wish our way out of here? While the matrix is unstable?”

 

She buried her nose in his neck again, muffling the sound of her voice. “No. As I understand it, we have real corporeal bodies here. Light and energy, flesh and bone it makes no difference, for our consciousnesses to be released we have to be free of that body, that vessel, and its only the artificial environment of the boxing facility that is unstable, not the character pattern.” Bill nuzzled her ear. “how did you become so knowledgeable about the engineering of cylon boxing facilities?” She kissed him briefly before grinning into his neck. “Ellen gave me a crash course while I was away. I still don’t trust her, Kara says she’s become obsessed with a utopian vision of our future, that she’ll stop at nothing to achieve it, but for now its all we have.”

 

Bill’s fingers tightened on her shoulders. “You were with Ellen, willingly spent time with her?” Laura straddles his thighs, grinds her lower body into his, keeping up the pretence of a lovers seduction. As she feels him harden against her and feels the hollow ache of desire in the pit of her stomach, Laura realises that it is quickly becoming more than a pretence for both of them. She kisses down the side of his neck whispering in his ear, as she moves against him “I wouldn’t say willingly, but, yes. I assumed you knew. My pattern was amongst the ones she stole.”

 

“No I didn’t.” He grasps her hips halting her movements. “ Laura, Why did you come back for me? You know Cavil has my pattern, there’s no body for me to go back to.” She couldn’t help but giggle into his neck at the thought of it. “Kara’s working on it. But, for a few hours you might have to make do with a substitute.”  Bill’s head jerks up at the suggestion, his eyes going wide. “ A substitute? What kind of substitute?”

 

“Bill. Stop. There’s no time, and we’ve been talking too long, he’ll be suspicious. Now” She wiggles her arse against him as she speaks. “We have to finish it, and I want you. Just in case its the last time we get to do this in a while, I want you to frak me.”  Bills lips are everywhere. He finds he cannot stop kissing her, he trails kisses over her face, down her neck following the path of the valley between her breasts. “Not that I’m complaining, but aren’t you the tiniest bit worried, that he’s watching too.” Laura grins and gropes him through his jeans. As she whispers into his ear. “ If he is, He’s been watching us since the beginning. It seems a little stupid to worry about it now.” Bill groans as her hand finds his zipper and slips inside, her fingers curling around his hardness. “Point taken.”

 

“mmhm...Just so you know, I still don’t forgive you.” Her grip tightens on him almost painfully. 

 

“ I know.” 

 

He grimaces, and she rewards his half apology with two long, firm strokes of her hand against him. His own hands reach to tug off her green sweater. Conscious of the heat coming from the fire, he discards it carefully behind them before pushing down the cups of her bra and latching onto a rosy nipple, while his fingers twist and flick at the other roughly, the way he knows she secretly loves but will never admit to. Laura mewls and whimpers above him. She is practically dry humping his leg. He finds her reaction to him so unbelievably hot that he could care less. Her hands claw at his head and he is unsure if she means to pull away or to keep him there. He bites into her nipple.

 

“Oh gods! I hate you. I hate that you make me want this...after...after everything.” 

 

He swaps his attention to the other breast, always the more sensitive and she pulls at his hair harder. He sucks at her harder, as he reaches for her hands at his head and pulls them behind her back, pinning them there. He cups her chin in his free hand and slowly she opens her eyes, heavy with arousal. Her hair, gloriously mussed, brilliant shades of red and brown in the dying firelight.

 

“That’s Ok. I hate you too.” 

 

The force of his mouth on hers both proves and contests his statement. Her head is spinning. She doesn’t know which she wants more in this moment; his hate or his love. Perhaps it is a little of both. Mingled together like this, it almost feels like his confession. Almost feels like she can give him absolution. She feels his hand undoing her pants, thick fingers passing underneath her underwear,  and pressing hard into her clit. She feels the wetness seeping out of her and all she can think is gods how she wants more of this, always more of this. How she wishes she was free to feel only this. She grinds herself into his fingers and tries to twist her hands free of his grasp but his hold on her is firm. “Enough!” His command is enforced by a sharp slap to her arse. He will not let her go, and the thought of that pushes her closer to the edge. 

 

Bill struggles to pull her pants and underwear down one handed, roughly pushing down one side and then the other until they sit halfway down her thighs. Its enough for what he has in mind. He kneels, still holding her hands behind her. “Turn around.” She does. Without question. And she hates him for that too. He releases her wrists and his hand flattens out on the small of her back, the slight pressure that is an order to lean forward and stay there. Mostly she hates that he knows this thing about her. This thing they never talk of but is ever present in their lovemaking. This element of control. This thing he gives and takes in equal measure. She finds that hate is not immutable it can become love, it can most certainly become lust. 

 

Her eyes remain closed. She thinks it would kill her to look at him right now. She feels his hand trail through her wetness. “you like that?”  He asks, and she refuses to answer him. She feels his fingers pushing into her, and she gasps and whimpers and pushes back against him with each thrust of his fingers. He curls them inside her, the fingers of his other hand pinching her clit, pulling it out of its hood and stroking  the raw nerve endings he finds there. The pain/pleasure of it is unbearable. It is deliberate. She can hear him chuckle behind her and she cannot help but beg. 

 

“Oh frak...frak...Bill..please. I’m sorry. So sorry..” 

 

She does not know quite what she is sorry for. She said it only because she felt it in the moment, and as he pushes his thick cock  into her, in that moment. Yes, she loves him. Yes, she wants him, then. It is hard and fast, and she is sweating from exertion and the heat of the fire as one of Bill’s hands slides from her hip and up her back to grasp her at the back of her neck, and the other dips lower flicking over her clit.

 

“Come on...come on... Laura..come for me.” 

 

Her cry is almost painful, filled with sorrow as she comes apart around him. He never stops touching her, and tiny flickers of searing pleasure pulse through her for what seems like forever. He slams into her hard, once, twice more, before his rhythm falters and he comes in short jerky movements deep inside her. 

 

His orgasm barely registers with her. All she knows is that he is there, pressed against her back on soft pillows, beneath scratchy blankets in front of an open fire in their conservatory. She looks up at the un-obscured view of the stars they have through the glass roof, and wishes on the fake stars, seen from the fake windows of their fake house, that this did not have to end. _No._ She thinks. _That’s not quite the right wish to make._ She feels Bill shifting beside her, and sighs. She knows neither of them will fall asleep, on this their execution day. In moments like this she believes that he has been right all along. Laura pulls his arms tighter around her. At the very least, she likes to pretend he can protect her. In these silent moments between them, in the hours before dawn, she wishes for it to be over. She wishes that they were anywhere but here.  


 

 


End file.
